


Heroes and Villains:  Of Christmas and Closings

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [25]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain and the Siren, Heroes and Villains, Ichabbie Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:30:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9059662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: A Captain and Siren Christmas Special.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little late, but... You guys didn't think I would forget to do a Ichabbie Holiday's fic with the Capt and the Siren, did you?  
> While I do still have a couple Capt&Siren fics I am finishing up and squeezing into the timeline of the overall plot, this can be considered the official final story of the series.

Ichabod tried to stay huddled in his coat to keep warm but the wind was blowing too hard for it to do him any good. The others had abandoned the manor for lord knows how long. He had fool heartedly tried to track the Siren through the snowy forest as she made her escape. How the heavens she managed to make it to the highway without leaving a solitary footprint was beyond him.

Her tiny prints had led him into the forest but then they disappeared without a trace. The only thing he could fathom was that she had climbed into the trees and bound limb to limb until she reached her destination. And now here he was, on the side of the highway, at the Sleepy Hollow city limit sign, trying desperately to figure out how to get back to the manor.

He could say what he wished about Valley Forge but _this_ was truly the worst snow storm he had been caught out in. But he did know, beneath the blanket of snow, the highway led to Sleepy Hollow. From there he should be able to get someone to help him home. 

So he walked.

He walked until the wind cut through him one time too many and he collapsed in a breathless heap on the ground. Had the winter winds always been so bitter? His limbs were tingling and he lost feeling in his feet nearly fifteen minutes past. Ichabod rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky, watching the tiny flakes of snow drift down over him. It reminded him of... something. _A memory? A dream? The memory of a dream?_ After a moment, his eyelids grew heavy and began to close.

Ichabod was vaguely aware of a sound near by followed by a soft voice proclaiming. “You idiot...”

Just as a pair of arms started drawing him close, he lost consciousness.

  
#  


_La da da dee da da da da_...

Ichabod's eyes cracked open and he caught sight of a figure kneeling before a door. After a moment, he slipped back into unconsciousness. When he came back around he was in a warm bed, a fire was going in a stone fireplace, blankets tucked all around him.

“There's those pretty blue eyes.”

He blinked as a woman sat down next to him on the bed. His vision blurred and he blinked to clear it. The figure was shadowed by a bright light behind her. “I was worried you wouldn't wake up.” The woman's voice was gentle but strong. “And we can't have that, can we, Captain?”

“Siren?” he asked weakly.

The woman chuckled. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“The only other option is that I have died and you are an angel sent to guide my soul to the gates of Hell,” Ichabod replied.

She leaned close enough that he could smell the gentle floral fragrance mixed and a peculiar scent he had only ever smelled upon the Siren. “I'm not an angel, baby. Far from it.”

He was about to inquire more but it became hard to breathe and he let his eyes drift closed again.

  
#  


When he awoke again, sunlight was pouring in through the windows. He looked around an realized he was inside some kind of rustic cabin. He also realized the Siren was seated on the chest of drawers, legs crossed primly, mask on and everything.

“Your fever broke last night so you're good. And you were lucky enough that you didn't lose any limbs or toes,” she commented. “You're also lucky that I just so happened to have to come back toward the county limits for something and saw your nearly dead ass on the side of the road.”

“Thank you for saving me,” Ichabod said quietly. “Although I cannot fathom why you would.”

“No one deserves to die out in the cold, alone,” the Siren replied. “Even you.” She eyes him for a moment. “I'm making hot cocoa. You want some before I take you home? It's not as windy but it's still snowing and it's cold.”

“I do not consider the manor home but... I would be delighted to join you for cocoa,” Ichabod replied. He made to move out of the bed and realized he wore only his long shirt. “Did you... undress me?”

“I had to make sure you didn't have frostbite,” she said quickly. “And believe me, you were in a bit of delirium at the time so it was neither fun nor easy.”

  
#  


“Where are we?” the Captain asked.

Abbie sipped at her cocoa then lowered it. “Some place safe and out of the elements. It was the closest place I knew of that I could get you warmed up.” She looked around the cabin that had once belonged to her mentor, August Corbin. Appropriately enough, the Captain looked right at home amongst the flannel fleece, stripped wood, and the taxidermy deer head over the mantel.

She had made sure to tuck away any and every photograph that contained her before he had woke up. She made the Captain soak in a hot bath—which she had to show him how to use and she had to try very hard not to get curious about what he was packing underneath the tiny towel he'd wrapped around his waist. After that, she had prepared cocoa.

He had lounged in the comfort of some old flannel pyjamas while his clothes got demolished in the machine. Abbie had been surprised as much as she had been horrified. It was almost as though they really had been under the ground for 200 and some odd years.

“I have the number to a lady that can make you some new ones. I don't know if your family pays for things or if you are independently wealthy...”

The Captain shook his head. “They are not my family,” he said quietly. “They are merely my keepers.” His eyes fell to his mug. “I haven't any family left in this world.”

Abbie tucked her feet under herself and shifted to sitting on her knees. “You don't have to go back,” she said quietly. “You can stay here. Safe. Out of the way.”

“Moloch would find me,” the Captain sighed. 

“Then fight _with me_ ,” Abbie suggested. She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I'm just asking. I want it to be your choice.” The expression that over took his face made her want to cry. She had never seen such a glimmer of hope on the face of a grown man. But then it faded and he hung his head. “Doing so would put you at even greater risk than you currently face, dear Siren.”

“But we'd be fighting them together,” Abbie pointed out. “That has to count for something.”

The Captain closed his eyes and sighed lightly. “I fear I should perhaps return to the manor.”

Abbie shook her head. “Nope. I'm going to go see if there are any clothes for you to change into and... I'm taking you somewhere.”

  
#  


The Siren was bundled up tightly. Almost as tightly as he in the borrowed clothes and coat from the cabin. The snow crunched underneath their feet as they made their way through the woods. Ichabod briefly wondered if the auto-mobile in front of the cabin was hers or if it belonged to someone else.

He looked at the beauty surrounding them. A misty halo dulling the glow of the sun. Pristine snow amongst naked trees. The vague sunlight filtering through the barren branches. It was almost as though he were back in his own era, untouched by all the modern madness he knew lay somewhere beyond the trees.

He found it quite comforting.

“Do you have a cell phone?” the Siren asked, her voice muffled by layers of cotton. 

Ichabod shook his head. “I do not. However, I have seen some of my associates using them and the concept has me quite fascinated...”

The Siren stopped and touched his arm to get him to follow suit. She pulled one of the glass rectangles from within her coat and wriggled her fingers. “Touch screen friendly gloves,” she commented before using her finger to pull up a map on the screen. “You see this blue dot? That's us.” She chuckled when his eyes widened in wonderment. “And...” she ticked a few buttons and it zoomed in on what he could only assume was a view of the manor from the heavens. “There's home for you.”

Ichabod took the phone from her hands. She reached over his wrist and touched the tiny blue arrow in the corner of the screen. “You are on the fastest route. You should reach your destination by 9AM,” the device said.

“This is amazing,” Ichabod breathed.

“You need to get your buddies to get you one of these. You're less likely to stay lost and die from hypothermia that way. Especially if you're going to chase me through the woods,” the Siren commented. “I'll walk you home this time and call someone to give me a ride from there.”

They mostly walked in companionable silence, punctuated only by the occasional direction from the mobile phone's voice. Once in a while the Siren would share some little anecdote from her childhood in reference to a place they passed—how she had nearly been left on a church camping trip because she was a little too good at hide and seek, which young gentleman she had slugged in the face because he had tried to kiss her against her will.

Similarly, Ichabod shared memories from his own era—such as scouting routes along the river with his war comrades, nearly getting into fisticuffs with Alexander Hamilton at a camp that had been set up near the area they were currently walking through.

“Wait, hold up, you knew the actual Alexander Hamilton?” the Siren asked, laughter in her voice. She shook her head.

“He insulted my cooking,” Ichabod huffed. “He could have insulted many things but he dared to disparage that which I took utmost pride in.”

“You guys almost threw down because he insulted your cooking?” the Siren chuckled.

“That and I may have called him an over-inflated windbag.” 

When the Siren burst into laughter, she wrapped both of her arms around one of his and buried her face in the sleeve of his coat. Ichabod looked down at her and felt a small smile pull at his lips. Unlike the others he had contact with, this tiny woman—his purported enemy at that—was the only person that didn't seem to take offense at having contact with him since he had been taken from the mental institution.

He slowed his pace when the phone proclaimed, “In half a mile, look for your destination on the right.” Ichabod knew it was probably wrong, but he wanted to treasure this tiny sliver of human contact whilst he was able. He didn't know if he would have another chance to take a pleasant stroll through the woods with a beautiful woman clinging to his arm.

“Oh, before I forget,” the Siren said. “I know we're enemies and all but... Christmas is in a few days and I got you a present. Well... made you a present.” She unzipped her coat and reached inside to pull out a tidily wrapped package. She held it toward him. “You don't have to open now but you don't have to wait until Christmas if you don't want to. It's just a tiny something.”

“Christmas? It is still celebrated?” Ichabod asked, carefully taking the tidily wrapped box from her.

“If you left the house once in a while you wouldn't be able to escape from Christmas celebrations,” the Siren retorted. “It boarders on madness what people will do.”

Ichabod shuddered uncomfortably. “With the madness I have already experienced, I dread to think it gets worse because of a holiday celebration.” He smiled down at the box. “I shall seek a gift for you.”

The Siren shook her head. “You don't have to. It's just... I knew you probably wouldn't be getting anything but I wanted you to know you're actually in someone's thoughts. I mean I think I paid a dollar for the frame and... nevermind.”

“And?” Ichabod asked curiously as she they came to a stop at he corner of the manor's property.

“I...” the Siren sighed and shook her head. “Look, I made it because I'm kinda broke. But if you think it's stupid or just hate it... feel free to toss it in the trash.”

Ichabod puffed out his chest and kept his eyes locked with hers as he tore into the wrapping paper. Much to his surprise if hadn't been a box but a picture frame, as she had said. Inside the frame was a pale blue matte sheet of paper with words elegantly scribed on it. “Out of the night that covers me,” he read quietly. “Black as the Pit from pole to pole. I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed.” He glanced at he Siren, she quickly looked down at her nervously shuffling feet. “Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how straight the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. 'Invictus' by William Ernest Henley, w.1875.”

A long silence spanned between them, Ichabod tried to choke down the swell of emotion. He had been gifted many things in his life before awakening in this era. None had brought him such feelings as this gift from his “enemy.”

“You hate it,” the Siren groaned. “Look, I got bored while you were in and out of consciousness... I knew it was stupid and corny when I—”

“It is... the most thoughtful gift I have ever received,” he said softly, cradling the frame in his hands. The Siren let out a soft yelp when he swept her up against him in a bear hug. She neither pulled away nor struggled against his embrace, in fact she seemed to melt into it. After a moment she lightly patted his side and he let her feet return to the ground and he held her at arms length. “I shall treasure it fondly.”

The Siren looked up at him. Even though he couldn't see most of her face between her scarf and mask, he could tell by the glimmer in her eyes that she was smiling. “Really?”

Ichabod nodded lightly. “Although, I shall have to prepare you for the utter disappointment that my gift to you shall be in comparison.”

The Siren laughed lightly. “Yeah well. I'll break into your place on Christmas Eve and get it.”

“I would anticipate nothing less from you my dear Siren.” Ichabod gave her a grand bow. “I am in debt to you for your kindness. Perhaps some day I shall be the one taking care of you whilst you suffer some ailment.”

The Siren shook her head. “Let's hope not. I'm cranky when I get sick. I hate feeling helpless.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Ichabod teased, holding the frame to his chest with one hand. With his other he took the Siren's tiny gloved hand and gave the cotton stretched over her knuckles a soft kiss. “Until we meet again.”

“Christmas Eve,” she said firmly. “That's two days from now.”

He watched her as she turned away and bound down the snow covered pavement. Once she disappeared around the corner, Ichabod made his way to the manor and slipped in through the doors that led into the basement. Sighing, he clicked on the lights and wondered if anyone would even bother returning to the manor before Christmas to let him in or if he would have to remain sheltered in the basement.

  
#  


Abbie couldn't take her eyes off of it. She didn't _want_ to take her eyes off of it. It was beautiful. It was a sketch of a mermaid lounging on a rock, her hand dragging lazily into the sea as sunned herself, tail curling around the rock. The mermaid's face bore a very striking resemblance to her own and even had delicate markings that resembled the mask the Captain always saw her wearing.

She tried not to let her mind obsess over the fact the mermaid was topless and that it was fairly accurate to reality. After all, mermaids back in his day usually didn't have the calm shell bras often seen in kid's movies. Hell, he probably sailed on a number of ships that had topless mermaids as the figurehead.

It had been rolled up and left hanging on the entry door in a plastic bag, to protect it from the elements, with 'Siren' written on it in black marker, along with a small note apologizing for it not being inside because he was locked out of the manor until one of the freemasons returned. Abbie had responded by not only doing a b&e on the entry door, but she unlocked the back door—and her heart had taken a nose dive when she saw the door in the kitchen that led down to the basement had not only been locked and deadbolted, but the assholes had wedged a chair underneath the knob to keep the door from being opened.

Until then she thought maybe they were just accidentally locking the Captain out, but now she had a strong suspicion they did it on purpose. If there was a way to report it without ousting herself as a burglar or the Siren, she would definitely find a way to make sure the freemasons were suitably punished for how they treated the Captain.

She had quickly done away with the chair and opened both the locks and quietly opened the door to tiptoe down the steps. The Captain had been curled up near the furnace, on the floor, with only a pillow and a thin blanket between him and the concrete, covered with his coat as he slept. Shaking her head, she had returned to the interior of the manor and searched high and low for as many blankets as she could find and piled them on top of him.

“Wow, that's gorgeous,” Jenny said, peering over Abbie's shoulder as she tried to decide where to hang the picture now that she had it in a frame. “Have you been buying commissions from people online again?”

Abbie shook her head. “Nah... it was a gift from... someone.”

“You should really check out the local message boards. You have all kinds of fans of your work as the Siren,” Jenny commented. She tilted her head slightly. “Though I have to say, whoever this is did a damn good job on your titties.”

“God dammit Jenny,” Abbie groused. “I was trying not to think about that.”

“In that case... lets go get something to eat for Christmas dinner. I heard Mabie's is opening at noon.” Jenny snickered and turned to retrieve the car keys. “That way I don't have to look at picture of my sister topless while I eat.”

Abbie scoffed. “Unless you're eating in my bedroom, that's not going to be an issue.”

  
#  


He had installed a shelf over a table he used for multiple things whilst trapped in the basement. It was there he carefully placed his gift from the Siren. So that while he worked, tinkered, wrote, or napped it was well within his sight. And it would remain there until, in a fit of jealousy, Katrina snatched it off the shelf and threw it against the wall.

Some time after that, the Siren herself would see the shattered glass in the frame—a few shards missing because he had been unable to find them and piece them back into the frame—and become enraged his late wife had done such a thing to something he treasured.

  
#  


Both the script and the sketch he had given her hung on his bedroom wall in the manor. Side by side. A gentle reminder of how far they had come, fairy-lights casting a multicoloured glow in the room, whilst his Siren slept peacefully in his arms. The sky beyond the window was beginning to lighten as morning approached.

As if on cue, footsteps thundered in the corridors and noisy children shrieked, “It's Christmas morning! Everyone get up!”

The Siren whimpered and burrowed deeper under the duvet and closer to him. “No, no, no... it's too early for this shit.”

Whether it was 'too early' or not seemed to be of no matter to the excitable five year old boy that led the swarm of cousins that burst into the bedroom. The boy was positively shaking with pent up energy. “Mum! Dad! Wake up! Santa came! We have to open presents!”

The children all trampled out, leaving their bedroom door standing open, to go finish waking up all the other adults that had probably just gone to sleep as well.

Ichabod smiled fondly as he gently stroked his love's hair. “Come now, isn't this what winning the Apocalypse was about? Permitting the next generation the chance to grow and thrive?”

His love grumbled sourly then she sighed heavily. “First post-Apocalyptic Christmas. I guess I could drink a couple cups of coffee and make it through the day.” She pulled down the duvet just enough to peer at the door. “So... which one of us is going to dart across the room naked and shut the door?”


End file.
